To Be A Soldier and Honourable Are Not The Same
by Arseneau
Summary: 'When he had joined the regiment, he had not expected this. The tales that he had heard passed through the brothel as a child of the soldiers of France spoke of honour, or chivalry and of the courage of men in the face of battle. They had never told of this.' My entry for the Fête des Mousquetaires July competition with the prompt 'Insurrection'.


I have returned! Having made it through my A Levels, I should have more time to write now, yay! I am intending to continue the Eurovision fics, this is just a slight tangent to get me back in the game. In this particular fic, it is assumed that Aramis was a soldier for a year before becoming a Musketeer at the time of the regiment's creation. This is an entry for the Fete de Mousquetaires competition with the prompt 'Insurrection'.

 **Warning:** there is something a little graphic in this fic, abuse of the opposite sex, please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

* * *

The sixth regiment of the King's army had been sent south to aid in the battle of Les Ponts-De-Cé. However, by the time they had reached the battle, it had already been won, so the regiment was camped a little outside. Aramis was grateful for the respite from the days of hard riding and was lounging just outside his tent, a bottle of wine precariously balanced on one knee. He watched the movements of his comrades, who were eating, drinking and being merry, with a sense of contentment.

"Benoit has returned!" The regiment erupted in cheers as Benoit, Aramis' closest friend in the regiment, came strolling into the camp, a huge grin on his face.

Robert, their superior, a huge balding man, with an enormous moustache and a gullet that was twice the size, rose drunkenly, "Where is the wine you promised, Benoit?"

"Oh, I have better, from the village down the road, with compliments of their master." He waved his hand and twenty girls came forwards, flinging themselves at the waiting soldiers. Benoit grinned at his oldest friend, "Don't worry I saved the best one for you." He called one of the young women over, a blonde whose hair reached down to her waist.

Aramis smiled at her, but said, "No, thank you, not tonight."

Robert, who was gazing lazily at a young brunette who was at least half his age, called, "What is it Benoit?"

Aramis replied calmly, "I simply do not fancy a woman tonight, sir."

"Nonsense. Have one. These women are for more than just the base kinds of pleasure, solider. Watch."

The captain raised his main gauche and cut through the woman's clothing. Then, without warning, he drew his blade down her chest, grinning as it cut through her flesh. Aramis became consumed by fury, as he watched his superior mutilate the woman, who simply giggled at the treatment and rushed forward, wrenching the dagger from his hand.

Robert looked shocked for a moment, then became angry, "Give me back my knife, soldier."

Aramis straightened, "No."

"Have her then." Robert pushed the girl at him, and

"You will take a wench, and you will like it. That is an order!"

Silence filled the camp as cold brown eyes fixed themselves on Robert with steely determination.

"No."

The word cut through the silence like a knife. When he had joined the regiment, he had not expected this. The tales that he had heard passed through the brothel as a child of the soldiers of France spoke of honour, or chivalry and of the courage of men in the face of battle. They had never told of this. Of men who drank more than they could pay for, who stole wives from the arms of loving husbands and butchered the soldiers they fought, even if they were no more than boys, and he had had enough. He tore off his uniform, which he had worked so hard for, letting it fall at Robert's feet, along with his knife and began to walk away from the camp.

He heard Benoit shout, "Hey, Aramis, wait!"

"Where are you going? Look at me when I am speaking to you. I am your commanding officer!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain filled him. He looked down at Robert's main gauche, now impaled in his arm, then back at Robert, who stood, fuming. He slowly pulled the knife out of his arm, wincing at the pull of the metal as it stuck a little and flung it at his superior's feet, satisfaction filling him as Robert flinched when the dagger made contact with the ground there. He continued his trek up the hill.

"You will never find another place, I will make sure of it!"

He smiled without turning, "That suits me fine, _sir_."

Aramis made his way to the village Benoit had mentioned. He only stopped to tend his wound along the way, biting down on his belt as he sewed it shut with the needle and thread that he had kept from his mother. Once he made it to the village he stumbled into the local tavern, asking only for three bottles of wine and some quiet. He was about three quarters of the way through his second bottle when a man approached him.

"Your name is Aramis."

Aramis nodded in answer, though it seemed to not have been a question. The man, a captain, by the looks of his uniform, though it was not a uniform he recognised, sat beside him. Aramis shuffled in his seat a little; he was not used to sitting next to men he did not know.

"I heard you left your regiment." Aramis said nothing, "I also heard that you were the best shot in that regiment."

"What is it to you?" There was no anger in his voice; he was too tired to be angry.

"I am in need of men. Good men. I also heard that you turned Robert down."

The man said the name with such disgust that Aramis chuckled, "Not a fan of his are you?"

"He is a scoundrel and a drunkard, the army would be better off without him." He smiled, "But not without you."

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"A new regiment is being formed, the King's elite Musketeers. We could use a man like you, someone with experience. At the moment all I am dealing with are boys who have no experience of soldiering. You would be very welcome."

Aramis looked at him bewildered, "You are offering me a place."

"It certainly seems that way." The man took a small sip from the wine in front of him, "So, what do you say?"

Aramis nodded fervently, "I would like that."

"Come to the garrison tomorrow at noon, and we shall see if we can find a place for you." The man stood and made to leave.

"You never told me your name, Monsieur."

The man smiled, "Treville. I expect to see you there tomorrow."


End file.
